As she slept, she dreamed. Not just a dream, but a nightmare. She stood in the center of a simple, white room. There was no discernible light source, but the light reflected off the walls, causing her to squint a little. There was a deep rumbling for a few seconds then silence. She turned to find a door to leave, to escape the white room. As she did, the walls began to move, pressing forward, closing in on her. She began panicking, moving from one wall to the other, slamming the sides of her balled fists against the blinding white walls. Her breathing was erratic and tears spilt down her pale cheeks as she beat her hands raw, painting the rapidly closing walls a bright crimson. Blood splattered with each strike. Her bottom lip trembled as she lifted one hand to wipe at her tear-stained face, streaking her cheek with blood. As she felt the walls press at her shoulders, her eyes squeezed shut and she let off a banshee-like scream.
A scream that carried over into the waking world. She jerked into a sitting position, her hands shaking as she lifted them to her face. Her fingers trembled as they felt the wetness on her cheeks. Another nightmare. That's three in a week. Shifting on her bed, she set her feet on the floor, rising to stand. Padding in her bare feet out of her bedroom, she walked down the hall to the bathroom, opening and closing the door behind her, turning to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her usually pale skin looked a few shades paler. A reaction to the nightmare, she assumed. Her dark brown, almost black hair was wild about her face and her gray eyes were red from crying. Off to the side was her Prozium injection case where she'd set it the night before. Opening the black case, she slipped her morning interval from the case, clicking it shut. Slipping the dosage into the top of the case, she brought it to her neck, pressing the trigger, causing the light amber colored liquid to be injected into her veins. After brushing her teeth, she stripped down, entering the shower.
Dressed in her pale gray work attire, she twisted her hair up into the regulation bun, then grabbed a bite to eat for breakfast. She was out the door at eight thirty-five and made the fifteen minute walk to the Tetragramaton building where she worked as a logger of EC-10 materials. The work was tedious, but it was what she was trained to do. She couldn't read other people nor was she physically gifted like the Grammaton Cleric. Ever since she was a child, she was looked down upon for being a klutz. But with the introduction of Prozium, the rolled eyes and the disappointed glances faded away with the emotions behind them.
She left work at exactly five o'clock, moving with the rest of the departing crowd, the nightmare having left a bad taste in her mouth, and an unnoticed frown marring her features. If not on the Prozium, one might consider her pretty, even beautiful. But thanks to the emotion-numbing product that is Prozium, not a single person paid any mind to her. She was simply another employed face in the crowd.
At home, she changed out of her work clothes into a simple pair of black, loose-knit slacks and a white t-shirt, moving about her kitchen, making steamed rice and pan-grilled chicken for dinner. She lived alone, not having been assigned to have her genetics mixed with another; not yet, at least. She was twenty-five years old, at the optimal age for arrangements to be made for her to be 'married'. Usually to a male of several years her senior, of premium genetics, so that their race may carry on. Due to the Prozium, they had no choice in the matter, nor did they care. They were just there to generate offspring and to raise them to the age where they were assigned their occupations, then their spouse. Sitting at her kitchen table alone, she pushed her rice around her plate with her fork, staring at the wall. After a few moments, she lowered her gaze, finding that she'd shaped a deformed circle with her rice. In the back of her mind, the child in her reminded her that it wasn't a circle, it was a heart. Her brow twitched with a frown and she scooped up a forkful of rice, lifting it to her mouth, destroying the deformed circle. No, the heart.
A few days later, another nightmare. She stood in the center of a crowd of her fellow Librians, each person jostled against their neighbor. She could see through the crowd of bodies, that they were surrounded by the police in their black helmets and their long, shiny leather trenchcoats, frightening black guns aimed at the crowd. She could hear orders shouted over the worried cries of the crowd, but could not distinguish them through the din. They must have been something important, for when the crowd did not calm, the sound of gunfire was added to the shouting. She could see the crowd around her diminishing, bodies falling to the ground, cut down by the police. It was almost as if time had slowed and she could see the bullets entering her fellow Librians, the sense offenders, causing them to jerk back, falling against their friends and neighbors, before crashing to the ground. She withdrew into herself, hunching her shoulders, hands clasped over her ears, but it could not drown out the unmistakable sound of death. Several people reached out towards her, mouthing things she couldn't understand as they fell. The gunfire ceased and she exhaled brokenly, tears slipping down her cheeks as she looked at the twenty-plus at her feet, bleeding to death, if not dead already. She lifted her tearful gaze to the police, all with their firearms aimed at her, like she was some sort of threat. There was a shouted order, not to her, but to the police surrounding her. They simultaneously adjusted their weapons and she gasped loudly as they fired.
Her heart thudded wildly in her chest as her eyes flew open, staring at the ceiling. She exhaled brokenly, turning onto her side, sobbing softly into her mattress. This nightmare was far worse than the others before. She rolled out of bed, falling to the floor with a thump and she grunted quietly, the tears continuing to spill down her cheeks. Crawling to the bathroom, she managed to lift herself into a standing position, staring at herself in the mirror. She was shocked to find that the look on her face brought only one word to mind. Distraught. She was distraught. How could that be? Being distraught was a sign of emotion. Of feeling. The Prozium stopped that. Stopped feeling. Stopped emotion. She'd heard whispers of people reacting to the Prozium, building up a tolerance to it. They were sent to Equilibrium and had their intervals adjusted, a higher dose. Within a few days, they had been back to normal. She reached over, picking up her injection case, opening it to reveal the small amber liquid filled vials. Her brow, very slowly at first, began to knit, then it turned into a full-blown frown and she removed her morning interval, slipping it into the injector. She aimed the needle at the drain in the sink, and hit the trigger, sending the Prozium down the pipes. After several deep breaths, she lifted her gray eyes to her reflection and slowly, a smile crossed her face. One of nervous excitement. Soon, a look of dread replaced the smile as she contemplated what she'd done. If she continued to quit dosing, she would become a sense offender. If she hadn't became one already, with what she'd just done. That was punishable by death. Lifting her hand to her face, she let her fingers drift down her cheek, then down across her lips. Looking off to the shower, she snapped back to reality, reaching over and turning it on. Just because she wasn't taking the Prozium anymore didn't mean that she had to stop working.